


i will follow you into the dark

by splendidlyimperfect



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Sad Ending, Suicide, Terminal Illnesses, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, don't read it unless you wanna cry, seriously this is really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splendidlyimperfect/pseuds/splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Rogue is dying, and Sting can't live without him.





	i will follow you into the dark

**Author's Note:**

> First off I am sorry for this, it's the most depressing thing I've ever written but it just came to me and needed to be written. Maybe it's catharsis but either way it's really, really sad. 
> 
> Title is from 'I Will Follow You Into the Dark' by Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> PLEASE read the tags and archive warning. This is not a happy story.

_**love of mine, someday you will die** _  
_**but i'll be close behind** _  
_**i'll follow you into the dark** _  
_**\- death cab for cutie, "i will follow you into the dark"** _

 

 

“There’s nothing we can do.” 

Sting blinks a few times and shakes his head because surely he’s heard wrong. Rogue is sitting next to him, legs pulled up against his chest, chin resting on his knees. His face is blank, eyes dark and fixed on a point just past the healer’s head. 

“What do you...” Sting can’t find the words. There are no words. 

“It’s past the point of healing. I’m sorry.” 

The healer tries to explain it to them, tries to give Rogue the details of whatever it is that’s killing him but there’s nothing in Sting’s ears but the rushing of his own blood. He’s trying and trying to think of how this happened. Rogue was fine last week. They went to that party and danced a little and drank too much wine, then spent the evening kissing under the cherry tree. The next day they’d gone on a quest – nothing strenuous. 

Then there was the fever. Probably just the flu, except then there was vomiting and blood and Rogue’s hands seizing up tight around Sting’s. There was the panic in Rogue’s eyes. 

And now this. 

“But...magic healing...” Sting manages to stammer, but the healer shakes their head. 

They bow their head apologetically. “We’ve only seen this a few times before, but...” they trail off, hands clasped in front of them.

“How long?” Rogue hasn’t said anything yet – these are the first words he’s spoken since they got here yesterday afternoon. His voice is barely a whisper. Sting wants to reach over and grab Rogue's hand but he’s frozen, on the edge of crying but not quite there. This can’t be real. This isn’t happening. 

“Weeks,” the healer responds, voice just as soft. “Maybe less.” Sting chokes, fingernails digging bloody half-moons into his palms.  _Weeks_. That’s... “It’s not painful,” the healer adds, as if this is some sort of consolation. “We can help you with the vomiting and the spasms. But it doesn’t hurt.” 

“Oh,” says Rogue, eyes vacant. He blinks a few times, not lifting his head. “Good.” He swallows and Sting finally reaches over for his hand but Rogue won’t let him take it. Sting presses light fingers to his arm, trying to send comfort where he knows there is none. 

“I’m sorry,” says the healer. “So very sorry.” 

Sorry isn’t enough. 

* * *

When they get home, Rogue heads for the bedroom and curls up in the middle of the bed, staring at the far wall. Sting sits down hesitantly on the edge, hand hovering over Rogue’s back but not touching. 

“Can I-” Rogue shakes his head, shrinking into a smaller ball, and Sting can  _feel_ the wall building up around him. Shadow tendrils start sneaking out from under Rogue, running across the room and up the walls. He’s shaking now, trying to keep the tears inside. 

“Please,” Sting begs, flaring up his own magic to try and keep the shadows at bay. “Rogue, baby, don’t do this. Don’t push me away.” 

“You’ll have to get used to it,” Rogue whispers, and the words hit Sting like a train, knocking the wind out of him and making him dizzy. It hadn’t hit him yet, that in weeks, Rogue will be gone. Gone. Sting will wake up alone, eat breakfast alone, walk to the guild alone. Rogue won’t  _be._

“Is Rogue sick?” Frosche has found them, has clambered up onto the bed and is moving toward Rogue, who makes a tight sobbing noise and shakes his head. He pulls in on himself more, surrounding himself with shadows. “Rogue?” Frosche’s face is all puzzlement and Sting is still so winded that he can't even bring himself to comfort the Exceed. 

“Sting? What’s wrong?” Lector is tugging at his pants now and Sting shakes his head violently. He can’t say it. The words won’t come, and maybe if he shoves them down far enough inside of him, they won’t be true. If he doesn’t say it out loud, it won’t happen. 

“Leave me alone,” Rogue says, voice almost inaudible. “Please.” Sting makes a frustrated sound and reaches out for his partner again, but Rogue’s shadows whirl up around him and Sting snatches his hand away. 

“Please,” he pleads, letting Lector clamber up into his lap. “Rogue, sweetheart, please.” He can’t be alone right now. In a few weeks all he’ll be is alone, and he’s not going to waste this time sitting by himself on the couch while Rogue hurts.

“Go away.”  

“No,” he says, wiping his eyes and moving up onto the bed. He lies down, facing Rogue but not touching him, and flares up his magic again, the holy light soft and soothing. Rogue’s face is obscured by shadows but Sting can tell he’s crying as his shoulders shake harder and harder. 

“I don’t want to die,” Rogue sobs, biting the back of his hand to keep in the sound. “I don’t...” 

“C’mere,” Sting whispers, reaching out and finally touching his partner’s arm. Rogue tenses for a second but then lets him in, lets Sting pull him close and rest his chin on Rogue’s head. Sting starts humming something as Frosche and Lector join them, and Rogue finally reaches out to pull his little Exceed into a hug. 

“I’m scared,” Rogue says when the sobs die down. His hands are still clutching Sting’s shirt, and Sting smooths out his hair, pressing a kiss to his head. 

“I know, love,” he says softly. “But I’m right here with you.” 

* * *

“How could I not have seen it?” Sting’s hands are in his hair, elbows on his desk, eyes swollen red from crying. Yukino is sitting across from him – she'd tried to move beside him but he’d shied away from the contact – drinking a cup of tea. She’s made him one too but it’s cold, hasn’t been touched. “I’m supposed to – we’re, we’re partners. I should have felt...something should have...” He swallows down tears because for the last three days all he’s done is cry. 

“It’s not your fault,” Yukino says quietly, for the hundredth time, but Sting doesn’t believe her. “They said it’s virtually undetectable. There’s nothing you could have done.” 

He growls, standing up and sweeping a pile of papers off his desk. Everything is too much – his chest hurts, his throat hurts, his heart hurts. 

“What if...” He takes a shaky breath, staring down at his hands. “Maybe they were wrong. They could have...maybe it’s something else.” His voice is so weak and he wraps his arms around himself, trying to stop the trembling. “He can’t...maybe they were wrong.” 

“Sting,” Yukino says in that tone of voice usually reserved for small children. Her eyes are too kind and he’s angry again, and sad, and it’s all at the same time. “You know they–”

“But they could be  _wrong,”_ he insists, running his hands over his face. “It could...maybe if Wendy comes. Or, or someone, maybe it’s not-” 

“You know better than that.” Minerva, who’s been standing in the back of the office because she’s not good at things like this, steps toward Sting. “You can try to trick yourself, but you know it’s real.” 

“But what if it  _isn’t,”_ Sting pleads. “What if he’ll be okay, what if...” 

“He won’t be,” Minerva says quietly, her voice still firm but much gentler than usual. “You have to accept that. He needs you right now.” 

“And I need him to STAY!” Sting shouts, slamming his hands down on the desk and exhaling sharply. “I can’t...I can’t. Not without him.” Anger and frustration are boiling in his chest. “I need him.” 

“I know it’s hard,” Yukino says quietly, and Sting growls at her. She doesn’t know anything. “You have to make the most-” 

“I need to go,” he says suddenly, not quite looking at Yukino. There are the tears again – he rubs them away angrily. “Can you...” He’s asked them to take care of guild master duties for the next few weeks.

“Minerva and I will handle it,” Yukino says, picking up the scattered papers and setting them back on the desk. “Go.” 

* * *

“Wanna go to the park?” Sting runs a hand through Rogue’s hair and kisses him on the cheek. He seems happy today – the healer was right, he isn’t hurting. The medication for the spasms sometimes makes him sleepy, but he’s been doing all right. It makes Sting feel a sense of relief until he remembers that it’s only temporary. Only for a few weeks. 

He swallows down the anger and the grief and forces himself to smile. They can’t spend their remaining time together crying. He’s done enough of that already, with Rogue and without him.

“Sure,” Rogue says, letting Sting pull him to his feet. Sting feels that it’s strange that Rogue doesn’t look any different – a stranger would see him on the street and not realize that he’s dying minute by minute.  _Damnit,_ Sting thinks.  _Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about death._

It’s not far to the park which is good, because by the time they get there, Rogue is tired. They sit down on a bench and hold hands, and for a minute Sting feels normal. The world feels like it isn’t falling apart, and he can just sit and relax and watch the birds with his partner. They eat lunch and talk about meaningless things like Sting’s boring guild meetings, or Frosche’s latest antics. They touch on a few memories but Sting tries to avoid it because it feels too much like goodbye.

Rogue can’t stay out too long because he’s getting sleepy, so Sting gives him a piggyback ride home. They act like it’s a game, like Sting lost some kind of bet and has to carry him, but there’s a deep sadness behind that lie. When they get home, Sting settles Rogue gently on the bed, then sits down next to him, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Sting.” Rogue’s voice is gentle but reproachful and Sting blinks, leaning back and looking at him. “I’m dying, not dead.” Sting flinches but Rogue puts a hand on his cheek, running a thumb over his cheekbone. “Make love to me?” 

Sting’s face must show something other than enthusiasm because Rogue’s smile falters and he starts to withdraw his hand. “No,” Sting says quickly, grabbing Rogue’s hand and bringing it back to his face. “No, I want to. I was just...” 

“I’m not going to break,” Rogue breathes, leaning in and capturing Sting’s mouth in a kiss. Sting moans softly into it, reaching up and twining his fingers in Rogue’s hair. “I want you to remember moments like this,” Rogue murmurs against his lips, and Sting’s chest aches and aches but he pushes Rogue back into the pillows and kisses him until he can’t feel his lips. 

Afterward, he kisses Rogue’s eyelids and cheeks and the palms of his hands. Rogue falls asleep quickly and Sting stays awake, trying to memorize every angle of his face. What if he forgets what Rogue looks like? What if he forgets Rogue’s voice, his smile, the way he trembles and moans and gasps underneath Sting when they make love? 

What if he forgets? 

* * *

Natsu and Gray come to visit one day, bringing Rogue’s favorite cookies and a deck of cards. It’s a good day, and they’re able to make it out to the park again where they sit under the sun and smile and laugh like nothing’s wrong. Like Rogue’s time isn’t running out. 

Sting loves the smile that crosses Rogue’s face and he tries to push down the grief and the anger. He tries to be there, to be present, to enjoy this time. But then he thinks about how this is probably the last time Gray and Natsu are going to see Rogue and he excuses himself to go vomit. 

When he comes out of the washroom, face red and tear-stained, Natsu is waiting for him. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls Sting into a tight hug that Sting can’t bring himself to reciprocate. He’s so tired. 

“I’m sorry,” Natsu murmurs against his hair. “I’m so sorry.” 

“How can...” Sting’s throat is closing up and even though there’s nothing left in his stomach but bile, he wants to throw up again. “How can you just...just smile and p-pretend he’s n-not...” He chokes on a sob and lets his forehead fall to Natsu’s chest. Natsu kisses his head and holds him tighter and Sting fights against the tears. All he does is cry. “I can’t...” 

“I know,” Natsu says softly. 

Another sob comes and then the sadness starts to boil, makes its way through his chest until his cheeks are red and his fists are clenched. He shoves Natsu away from him, stumbling backward and breathing heavily. 

“No you  _don’t!”_ He shouts, suddenly furious. His magic appears, hot and wild, and he lunges at Natsu, fist flying. Natsu dodges it, moving further away, and the look of sadness on his face just makes Sting angrier. “You have  _no idea!_ You’re not, you’re not watching your – fuck, your best friend, y-your love, y-your everything, you’re not watching h-him die. You have no fucking c-clue how I feel!” 

He snarls and jumps towards Natsu again, intending to hit him in the face, but Natsu catches both his wrists and pulls him in, holding fast. Sting struggles against it but Natsu’s grip is like iron, and he can’t stop the arm that wraps around him and pulls him in. 

“Let GO!” He screams, and he’s sobbing now, thrashing against Natsu’s grip and trying to headbutt him. It’s so much, he can’t breathe. 

“No, I don’t know what you’re going through,” Natsu says shakily, and Sting realizes that he’s crying too. It startles him. He hadn’t thought about how Natsu was losing one of his best friends. “I just, I don’t...” Natsu swallows, pulling Sting tighter against him. “We don’t know what to do. I’m sorry.” 

Sting tries to pull away again, half-hearted this time, then shudders and lets himself fall into the embrace. Natsu releases his wrists and wraps both arms around him, and they sink to the ground together, an aching mess of sorrow and grief. 

* * *

Wendy does end up coming, and Rogue doesn’t want to let her touch him until Sting pleads and he relents. She gives them the same news as the hospital, tears in her eyes, and Sting has to put aside his anger and frustration to comfort her. 

“You can’t change this, love,” Rogue says, sitting in their back yard, fingers toying with the petals of some of the flowers Yukino planted for them. They’re a dark purple, painted with soft pink, and they smell like honey. “You can’t save me.” 

“You don’t know that,” Sting replies, leaning against the fence and gazing at Rogue intently. “I always...I always have. That’s my job.” Rogue shakes his head, picking one of the flowers and turning to Sting. He tucks it gently behind Sting’s ear and smiles at the sight, and Sting can’t help but smile as well. 

“Now your job is to learn to live without me.” Sting’s chest tightens and he grabs the hand that’s withdrawing from his hair. He kisses Rogue’s palm, then his wrist, and he can hear the flutter of Rogue’s heartrate increasing. 

“I can’t,” he whispers, squeezing your eyes shut. “If it...it if were me, could you?” 

Rogue’s breath catches in his throat and Sting can tell that he hasn’t considered the question. The look on his face says enough, though. They’re nothing without each other – what’s light without the darkness to temper it? They’re a pair, they’re  _stingandrogue_ _,_  inseparable since they met. Their progression from friends to lovers had been so natural because there’s never been anyone else. They’re each a half of a whole, and how’s Sting supposed to survive with half of him missing? 

So Sting keeps trying, keeps searching for cures and healers, combing the city and contacting other guilds for help. Nothing works, and he starts looking elsewhere – shadier places where people like him wouldn’t normally go. He’s desperate. Time is running out but he can’t give up, won’t give up, maybe everyone else just hasn’t looked hard enough. 

He's at a black alchemist’s shop when he sees it - a small bottle with a rune inscribed on the side. Sting picks it up hesitantly and it immediately fills him with a profound sense of relief. The tight ball that’s been settled in his chest over the past three weeks loosens a little, and he takes a deep breath. This is how they’ll be okay. 

“That’s not cheap.” The shopkeeper moves towards Sting, who shakes his head. 

“Doesn’t matter how much,” he says softly, closing his palm around the bottle. “I won’t need the money anyway.” 

The shopkeeper stares at him curiously, glancing back at the shelf where Sting had been looking. Healing remedies. Miracle cures. Nothing he hadn’t already tried. The man sighs and moves toward the front of the store. 

“You dying?” he asks, and the question doesn’t even make Sting flinch anymore. He shrugs, throwing a bag of jewel on the counter that’s probably half his savings.

“Might as well be,” he replies, turning and walking out of the shop without looking back.

* * *

“You’re happy.” Rogue’s leaning against Sting’s shoulder and they’re sitting up on the mountain, in the clearing where they first met as kids. Sting’s leaning back against the cliff face and Rogue is curled up between his legs, head resting under Sting’s chin. Sting’s arms are aching because he had to carry Rogue up here, but it’s worth it. 

“I’m...content,” Sting replies, nuzzling his face into Rogue’s hair. Sting helped him wash it this morning and it smells like strawberries. Rogue sighs and snuggles closer. “I’m trying...” Sting stops talking, not wanting to damage the moment. The sun is low in the sky, not quite sunset but getting there, and the forest around them is dark with shadows.

“I know,” Rogue says quietly. His breath tickles the hollow of Sting’s throat and Rogue places a kiss there, butterfly soft. It’s warm here, and quiet. All Sting can hear is the rustle of things moving in the forest and the distant call of birds. 

Is this what it will be like to die? Peaceful and calm? Sting’s never put much thought into the idea because he’s always been indestructible.  _They've_ always been indestructible – the Twin Dragon Slayers, undefeated. And now Rogue is weak and tired and sick in his arms and Sting can’t even fight what’s killing him. What good is holy light if it can’t burn away this sickness? 

But it doesn’t matter now. Sting can breathe easy because they’re going together. He can’t live without Rogue – can't imagine a world without that soft smile in the mornings, the annoyed huff when Sting doesn’t do the dishes, the arms around his waist when he’s cooking. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Rogue curls up tighter against Sting and Sting reaches over for the bag they brought, tugging out a blanket and tucking it around them. When he looks up, a rabbit has stopped to watch them, settled on its hind legs with its head cocked, whiskers twitching this way and that.

“You,” Sting replies, twining their fingers together. The rabbit comes closer and Rogue’s eyes widen, smiling at the curious animal. “How much I love you,” Sting adds, kissing Rogue on the side of the neck. 

“You’ll let them help you after, right?” Rogue’s eyes flutter shut as he asks the question and Sting‘s chest tightens. He hasn’t told Rogue, isn’t going to because even though Rogue knows he‘d do the same damn thing if their roles were reversed, he’d try to talk Sting out of it. A flash of guilt runs through him, but then he pictures himself waking up alone in the bed and he pushes the guilt aside. 

“Yeah,” he said, pulling Rogue closer. “Yeah, I will.”  

* * *

Three days later, Sting wakes up and instantly knows that it will be today. Rogue’s still sleeping, so Sting stays curled up beside him and traces the shape of his face with his fingertips. A heavy weight in his stomach accompanies the dread, and when Rogue wakes up his face immediately darkens. He shivers and Sting adds another blanket. 

“It’s-” 

“I know,” Sting whispers. “I’m going to call Yukino.” 

She shows up that evening to pick up Lector and Frosche, who is crying inconsolably. Sting hugs them both, pressing a fierce kiss to Lector’s head and trying to keep himself composed. 

“Should I come in?” Yukino asks hesitantly. Sting shakes his head. 

“He’s...he already said goodbye to everyone.” He swallows, rubbing his eyes. “We just want to be...” 

“Alone.” Yukino gives Sting a sad smile and he hugs her tightly too, the guilt pooling in his stomach again as he thinks about what will happen to everyone else. But it’s better than him staying and being broken. He wouldn’t be any good to anyone as half of a whole. 

After Yukino leaves, Sting returns to the bedroom and sits beside Rogue, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. His skin is sallow and his hands are shaking, and Sting can feel the grains of sand trickling out of the hourglass.  

“Do you want some tea?” he asks gently, and Rogue shakes his head. Sting kisses his forehead, standing up. “I’ll be right back.” 

Sting’s hands are steady as he boils the water, mixes the leaves, then pours the entire bottle from the alchemist into the mixture. A strange sense of calm and serenity has enveloped him, and he sips it back as soon as it’s ready, ignoring the burning sensation in the back of his throat. They’re going to be okay. 

Heading back to the room, he climbs under the covers with Rogue, pulling him close and stroking his hair. Sting’s hands are already feeling cold and he knows it’s working. Rogue’s breathing is slowing down, his body becoming heavier and heavier in Sting’s arms, and Sting can feel his own heart beating slower. 

“I can...” Rogue’s voice is weak and exhausted, and Sting lets him pull back enough to look Sting in the eyes. “It’s...” 

“Shhh,” Sting whispers, drawing a hand across Rogue’s cheek. “It’s okay. I’m here.” The sun is falling low in the sky, rays of warm pink and orange casting shadows across the bed. Rogue’s eyelids are drooping and he struggles to keep them open, to keep looking at Sting. 

“I’m scared,” he says, tears pooling in his eyes as he clasps Sting’s hand as hard as he can. “I don’t want...to be alone.” He struggles to take a breath and Sting shuffles closer, feeling his own body slowly shutting down, piece by piece. It won’t be long, now. 

“You'll never be alone,” he says, letting the heaviness of his body press him into the mattress. His hands are numb and he’s trying so hard to feel Rogue’s fingertips brushing against his palm. “I love you.”  

“I love you, too,” Rogue murmurs, and then Sting sees it, feels the moment when Rogue's soul departs and leaves behind a still, lifeless body that used to be his lover. He aches, starting to cry as his own darkness creeps up, surrounding him and blurring his vision. He exhales shakily – he’s not afraid of the darkness. The darkness is familiar, it fills him and completes him and is waiting for him on the other side. 

“I’m coming, love,” he whispers, letting his eyes close and feeling the life begin to leave his body. “We’ll hold each other soon.”


End file.
